12 Days of Supernatural Christmas
by Serenity24601
Summary: 12 different Christmases celebrated by the boys through their years of hunting, growing and becoming a stronger family.
1. John and Mary's First Christmas

The soft notes of Christmas music floated into the bedroom followed by the sharp smell of burnt cinnamon. Suddenly the smoke alarm cried out.

"Shit," a voice cursed. Mary smiled into her pillow before sitting up and running her fingers through her hair. She slipped off the bed and shuffled into the kitchen. Smoke filled the room and John, still in his pajamas, was jumping around and flapping a towel at the smoke alarm in an attempt to clear the room and quiet the angry thing down. Mary chuckled and went to the nearest window and opened it to let the smoke out. Bitter cold drifted in and bit Mary's noise. She stuck her hands in the pocket of her hoodie to warm them and turned to smile at her husband. John had run to the oven to turn it off and proceeded to reach into the oven, bare handed, to grab the pan of blackened cinnamon rolls.

"Shit," he cursed again and began shaking his burnt hand. He went over to the sink and began running his hands under cold water. Mary chuckled, got some pot holders and pulled the cinnamon rolls out of the oven. Then she came up behind her husband and hugged him.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered in his ear. He turned off the water and turned around.

"I was going to bring you breakfast in bed," he said. She smiled.

"Why don't we have cereal instead?"

"What?" His expression changed quickly from one of disappointment to a teasing smirk. "You don't want to try and make some?" His hands wrapped around her waist and he pulled her closer to him.

"I think our ovens been through enough," she answered. Instead of saying more, he leaned in and kissed her.

"I got you something," he whispered as they pulled away, his breath brushing her lip.

"Really?" Mary asked, opening her eyes but not moving back. They spoke quietly as if talking too loud would break the moment. "Presents for Christmas? When did that start?" John pulled back and gave her a look.

"If you talk back, you're not getting it," he pretended to scold.

"I'm sorry," Mary said. "What'd you get me?" John tried to move around her but she didn't let go. He pushed her hair back behind her ear and smiled. His hands slowly moved down her waist and he kissed her and turned her back to the sink, then he pulled away and went to the kitchen table.

"Close your eyes," he said. Mary did as she was told, still standing by the sink and smiling. John came back and wrapped one arm around his wife and used the other to place something cold and round in Mary's hand. "Alright," he whispered. "Open 'em." Mary opened her eyes and looked down at the small round ornament. On the silver circle pressed into her palm were painted two snowmen kissing and under it read: _Our First Christmas Together._ Mary looked up at her husband. John smiled proudly at her. She laughed and put her hand on his cheek.

"I love it," she said.

"Our first Christmas together," John said. "How's it going so far?"

"So far?" Mary pretended to think about it. "It's my favorite."

"Burnt breakfast and all?" John asked. Mary chuckled.

"My favorite," she said, "Here's to many more." She kissed him again.


	2. A Winchester Christmas

It sounded like a herd of cows were trampling down the stairs and John groaned as the stampede passed his doorway. He rolled around and put his arm over his wife as he pushed himself up a little to look at the clock. 5:00. He sighed and put his forehead on Mary's upper arm. She chuckled. He smiled.

"I thought you were asleep," John said.

"You kidding?" Mary asked. "How could anyone sleep through that?"

"Aren't you supposed to sleep in on a holiday?" John asked. Mary smiled and kissed him.

"That was before kids." John kissed her again but was interrupted by a squeal.

"Shit," he cursed and flew out of bed. He flung the door open and barreled down the stairs to find his son in the middle of a pile of wrapping paper, holding the new stuffed toy John had bought him. "Dean," John's voice was loud and stern and his son dropped the toy and looked up at him with guilt in his green eyes. "You need to wait." John said and scooped up the toy.

"John," Mary came out of the room. "It's Christmas."

"He can't open the presents until we're ready," John argued. Mary sighed and knelt down in front of Dean.

"Hey, Dean," she smiled. "You need to wait for mommy and daddy to open anymore, okay?" Dean went in for a hug but Mary held him back. "Okay?"

"Okay," he said then hugged her. She smiled and ran her hand over his hair. Then she stood back up and went into the kitchen. John followed her but turned to see Dean still sitting, staring longingly at the still wrapped presents.

"Dean," he said, "Wait."

After presents had been unwrapped and Dean had helped clean up the wrapping paper, they settled in for some dessert. Mary brought out the nice warm pie topped with vanilla ice cream and set it down in front of her two boys, rubbing her hand over her husband's hair as she did so. She grabbed her own and sat down to join them. At first Dean used his spoon to scoop up bits of pie and ice cream, mimicking his father's movements, but eventually, when he lost patience, he began using his hands. Soon there was more ice cream and berries on his face then in his mouth.

"Dean," John said sternly. The boy stopped with bits of pie still in his hand and a terrified look in his green eyes. "Slow down," John's voice was a bit harsh. Mary put a gentle hand on his thigh and smiled at him.

"Use your spoon," she told Dean. The little boy nodded and picked his spoon back up, smearing pie and ice cream everywhere as he did so. John let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. Mary squeezed his leg. She picked up their plates and went over to the sink while Dean finished up his dessert. When he had taken his last bite, he looked up at John with a smile smothered in purple and white. John smiled back and shook his head.

"Merry Christmas, daddy," the little boy said.

"Merry Christmas, Dean."


	3. The First Christmas without Mary

Someone was screaming. Loud, wailing screams. John however ignored it. He rolled over and tried to will himself and the screaming child back to sleep. Neither happened. Instead a soft knock at the door and the light of the hallway spilling into his bedroom made John sit up.

"Dad," a young voice whispered. "Sammy's awake." John nodded and climbed out of bed. The ringing in his ears and the cries of the child made the ache in his head pound harder. He walked like a zombie towards the door and ruffled his older son's hair a little.

"Go back to bed, Dean," he said.

"Daddy," Dean turned around but didn't head back to his room. "It's Christmas?"

"Yes, Dean," John answered. "It is." He didn't say anymore as he headed towards Sam's bedroom but he heard the soft tread of small feet following him. He opened the door and the bawling hit him like a blast of wind in full force causing his head to throb even harder and the ringing in his ears to scream even louder. He groaned and fumbled on the floor for a pacifier. Once he'd found one, he stood up and stuck it in the baby boy's mouth. Sam calmed a little but whimpered and seemed ready to burst into tears again. John lifted him out of the crib and tried to get him to fall back asleep by bouncing him and rubbing his back.

"I think he's hungry," Dean stood in the doorway watching them. John looked at his oldest son with furrowed brow then at his youngest son who still looked on the verge of tears. "He's always hungry in the morning," Dean shrugged then walked out the door and down to the kitchen. John stared after him as if he didn't recognize him then shook his aching head and followed his son.

"What does he eat?" John asked Dean.

"He needs a bottle," Dean opened the cabinet and pulled out a jar of powdered formula.

"How do I make it?" John asked. Dean shrugged. That was as far as he'd ever gotten when helping Mary feed Sam. John sighed and set the younger boy down in his seat on the ground. Immediately the pacifier fell from his mouth as Sam began to scream.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said as he opened the cabinet again. John was squinting at the instructions on the formula container. Dean pulled out another container of baby cereal and put a few in his hand. "Here," Dean held them out to the baby and Sam took one and popped it in his mouth. Dean sat down beside his younger brother and put his hand in front of Sam like a tiny fingered tray. John had finally figured out the instructions and he shook the bottle to stir the formula together before going over to pick up his youngest son. Sam was reaching for the bottle as soon as John picked it up. They sat in the rocking chair together. John put his head back and sighed as the house finally quieted. His hangover was finally disappearing as the pills he'd taken while trying to figure out the bottle's instructions began to kick in. He'd almost fallen back asleep when two small hands grabbed his arm.

"Daddy," Dean asked.

"What, Dean?" John's tone was as short as his temper.

"Where's the tree?" the little boy asked.

"We don't have one."

"What about presents?"

"We don't have them." Dean could hear the irritation in his father's voice so he poured himself a bowl of dried cereal and let John rest his head as he burped the younger brother. A few minutes had passed when Dean whispered for his father again.

"Daddy," he said. John sighed heavily and opened his eyes.

"What?"

"Do we not have a tree because mommy's gone?" Dean stared at John with wide innocent eyes, innocent to how much the question hurt his father. John swallowed back a dry lump in his sore throat and gritted his teeth against the tears that stung his eyelids.

"Eat your breakfast," he ordered his son. Dean nodded and did as he was told but it was clear he knew the answer to his question. The four-year-old was much smarter than his father gave him credit for. Sammy burped and John set the youngest boy back down in his chair as he went to the fridge and pulled out a beer.

A few hours later found the two boys all by themselves. John had locked himself in his room with several bottles of beer and the TV on low. But he heard his older son carrying the baby to bed.

"It's Christmas, Sammy," Dean said to his brother as he lay him in the crib. "But we don't have a tree because mommy's gone." John took another long swig of beer.


	4. Christmas with Bobby

"Damn it, John! Tomorrow's Christmas." Dean slowed down on the steps when he heard Bobby yelling his father's name. For a moment, his heart skipped a beat. He thought maybe his father had returned but then Bobby walked by with his phone to his ear and Dean's shoulders drooped a little. He stood at the top of the stairs, trying to decide whether to disturb Bobby as he ranted to their father or to go back to his bedroom. The stairs squeaked behind him and he turned to see six-year-old Sammy staring down at him.

"Hey," Dean smiled at his younger brother.

"Is dad back yet?" Sam asked. Dean shook his head.

"You hungry?" He asked. Sam nodded and they both finished the hike down the stairs into the kitchen. Bobby slammed down the phone just as they entered with an angry huff. Dean knew what that meant. He could see Sam ready to ask more questions so he quickly distracted him with a bowl of cereal.

"You boys got everything you need?" Bobby asked. Dean nodded and the older man left the room. Sam watched him go then turned to his big brother.

"Is dad coming home for Christmas?" Sam asked. Dean sighed.

"Eat your cereal," he ordered. Sam did as he was told with a grumpy glare. But after a few minutes he was back to his normal self.

"Can we get a Christmas tree?" He asked through mouthfuls of cereal. Dean shrugged.

"You'd have to ask Uncle Bobby." Immediately the younger brother was out of his chair and halfway down the hall before Dean even had time to finish his sentence. He finished his own cereal and picked up both their bowls before following his brother to the study. Sam was sitting in the corner reading a book and Bobby was at his desk reading another. Dean sat down by his brother.

"He said no," Sam said quietly. Dean nodded and looked over at Bobby.

Bobby could feel the eyes of the older boy on him and he looked up into hopeful green eyes pleading with him to please his younger brother. Bobby sighed and set down his book.

"I don't know much about Christmas. You boys are going to have to pick out the decorations."

"Really?" Sam looked over the cover of his book with a smile in his eyes.

"O' course," Bobby said. "But only a little bit. Christmas tree and that's it." Sam closed his book and went over to the older man, throwing his arms around him.

"Thanks Uncle Bobby," he said.

"You boys better go get dressed so we can get the stuff we need," Bobby said as he pushed Sam away. Sam nodded and bounded up the stairs with Dean close behind.

The parking lot of the store was insane and by the time Bobby had found a parking space he was already done with the whole Christmas season. He threw some cash at the two boys and sent them inside to get a tree and whatever else they could afford. Inside they found a small plastic tree and a box of assorted ornaments and some lights.

"We should get something for Uncle Bobby," Sam said.

"Like what?" Dean asked. Sam shrugged.

"What do old guys like?" He thought. "I have an idea." They went into the grocery aisle and Sam found a six pack of beer.

"We can't get that," Dean pointed out. "We're not old enough." Sam looked dejected. Dean sighed, hating to see his brother disappointed. "I've got an idea."

At the checkout line, the two brothers separated, Dean with the tree and the decorations and Sam with the beers.

An older woman stood in line at one of the cash registers when a young boy with hazel green eyes came up behind her.

"Ma'am," he said politely.

"Can I help you, dear?" She smiled down at him.

"I wanna buy a present for my dad," he lifted the six pack onto the conveyer belt. "But I can't buy it without an adult." She looked up and down the aisles.

"Where are your parents?"

"Dad drove here but he sent us inside to get some stuff," he lied.

"Us?"

"Me," he quickly corrected then looked up at her with an expression in his eyes that would've immediately melted even the hardest of hearts. She sighed.

"Alright," she said, "Put it up here. But I want to walk out with you to your car and meet your father." She had to make sure he wasn't going to drink the beers himself. Once they'd payed for the beers, Sam led the older lady out to Bobby's truck.

"This is my dad," he told her. Bobby looked confused but the expression on Sam's face told him to play along.

"Polly," the lady introduced herself as Sam slipped something in one of her grocery bags and jumped into the truck with the six pack wrapped in bags. Bobby stuck his hand through the window and shook her hand.

"Bobby," he said. "Thanks for watchin' out for my son."

"Oh yes," she said. "He's very sweet." An awkward silence ensued. One where Bobby seemed eager for her to leave but it took a few minutes for her to realize. Finally, she excused herself and left with Sam eagerly waving at her. Dean joined them shortly after.

"What was that about?" Bobby asked the boys.

"Nothing," they said at the same time. He looked at them both suspiciously.

"Did you tell her thank you?" Dean asked Sam.

"Yes," Sam said in an annoyed tone. "And," he beckoned Dean closer and whispered something in his ear that made him laugh out loud.

"What are you two conspirin' about?" Bobby asked as he backed the truck out and hurried away from the busyness.

"Nothing," they both echoed each other again.

As soon as they arrived home they began decorating and wrapping Bobby's present in shopping bags and string. They stayed up late playing games and reading around the Christmas tree and soon fell asleep right under it. Bobby found the two of them under the fake tree and decided to leave them there. He sighed, wishing their father could be there to see the two boys. He fell asleep in the chair at his desk.

And so the next morning was just like any other morning and the day passed just like any other, with no sign of John. But that evening they sat around the Christmas tree and pushed their present into Bobby's lap.

"Merry Christmas," Sam said. Bobby untied the string and pulled the six pack out of the bag.

"There's one missing," he said. Both boys started to laugh and Dean leaned in and explained Sam's story. Bobby burst into laughter, trying to imagine the prim older woman with a bottle of beer. And so once again the boy's fell asleep under the pines of the fake Christmas tree. When they left the next day, Bobby stuffed the old thing away. But every Christmas he would pull the tree out and stick it in a corner, undecorated by lights or ornaments but lingering with the smell of those memories of the first Christmas he had shared with the two Winchester boys.


	5. A Very Supernatural Christmas Part Two

The bar was quiet. Soft Christmas music drifted around the empty room from the juke box. The bartender was cleaning the bar for what seemed to be the hundredth time that afternoon when the door opened and the icy winter breeze blew in a large, stoic man with a stern expression on his cold nipped face. He kicked the snow off his boots and took off his jacket. The whole time he never spoke and the bartender watched him as he absentmindedly cleaned the same spot on the bar. When the man finally sat down and barked out a drink order, the bartender left the rag and poured the man his whiskey.

"You spending Christmas alone?" The bartender asked. The man didn't answer as he threw back the whiskey in one gulp and slammed the glass down on the table ordering another.

"Look man," said the bartender as he poured the next glass, "I want to be here probably less than you do, so you could at least make this more fun for both of us and tell me what you're doing in a bar on Christmas day all by yourself." The man didn't answer until he'd thrown back three more whiskeys.

"You got any family?" the bartender asked as he went back to cleaning the bar, expecting more silence.

"Got two boys at home," the man's rough voice made the bartender nearly jump when he finally answered him and said more than just a drink order. The bartender put down his rag and leaned on the bar.

"Why aren't you with 'em?" he asked. John Winchester shrugged and ordered another drink.

"I can't bring myself to face them," he said as he watched the whiskey trickle into the glass. "Specially not today."

"What'd you do?" the bartender asked. John didn't answer as he sipped slowly at his drink.

"I just can't look 'em in the eye anymore," he shook his head. "Every year it just gets harder."

"They got a mom?" the bartender asked, wondering if she was the one keeping the boys from their father. John shook his head and pushed his glass out again. As the drinks kept rolling in, his tongue got looser and he could feel himself getting a bit tipsy.

"She's dead," John shook his head and finished his last glass of whiskey. "Been dead for a while now." He stared at the bottom of the empty glass. "They say with time these things get easier, but I've only found them to keep getting harder." He sighed and looked ready to ask for another.

"Look man," the bartender said, "I think you've had enough. You gotta get back to them boys in one piece."

"They're just up at the motel aways," John gestured with his head towards the door. "I can walk." The bartender didn't seem so sure but he handed John a beer to finish off the day.

It was evening by the time John was able to find the motel after wandering drunkenly through the streets. He slept off the rest of the alcohol inside the Impala before finally getting up the nerve to go into the room.

Both the boys had gone to bed but Dean was half awake, waiting for their father to return. His shoulders tensed when he heard the door open but he recognized the footsteps and grunts of a hungover John as he pulled off his coat and boots. Dean closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep as he heard their father step closer to the two beds and stand at the feet of them, breathing heavily.

"Merry Christmas, boys," he whispered before turning on the TV and falling asleep on the couch.


	6. First Christmas without Sammy

Dean burst through the branches and scuttled down the hill. Ducking behind a tree, he slowed his heavy panting to steady, quiet breaths. He held his knife up in front of him and listened for the sound of footsteps approaching him. Just as they approached the tree he whirled around and sliced through the neck of the vampire who had been ready to pounce on him. His knife stuck into the tree as the body crumpled to the ground. Blood splattered over his face and he yanked the blade from the trunk. The head fell with a thud to the ground. He wiped his blade on his shirt and pulled his sleeve over his face in attempt to remove the blood. He only smeared it more and with a sigh, tucked his knife away and climbed the hill towards the road. A familiar engine rumble greeted him at the top of the hill. John waited inside the Impala and his son slipped into the passenger seat.

"You get the stragglers?" John asked.

"Yes sir," Dean said.

"Good," John nodded. "That should be all of them then. I cleared the nest so let's get out of here." He started the car and they drove in silence back to the motel. "Pack up and we'll get out of here." Dean nodded. He tried to wipe the blood off his face with a towel. "Why don't you clean up and I'll pack up?" John suggested. Dean nodded and did as he was told. After showering and getting dressed, he glanced at his phone but the screen was empty. He sighed and ran the towel over his hair, making it stand on end. Once he was ready to go, he exited the bathroom and found his dad checking his own phone.

"You get anything?" Dean asked, trying to ask nonchalant though they both knew what he was asking. John shook his head.

"No updates on the new hunt," John answered, also avoiding the subject. "We'll just head that way and see from there." Dean nodded and headed to the car, throwing his pack into the trunk and sitting in the passenger seat. John checked them out of the hotel and joined his son in the car. As they drove down the road John turned on the radio. Christmas music drifted out of the speakers.

"Hm," said John, looking at the radio thoughtfully. "I forgot that was today." But Dean hadn't. He checked his phone again, waiting for the name to show up on his phone, the name he hadn't seen in months, the name they hadn't mentioned in a long time. "Anything?" John asked, just as nonchalant as his son.

"No sir," Dean answered. And they didn't speak the name still. Dean grabbed a beer out of the cooler in the back seat and drank it as he glanced out the window.

"Well," John sighed. "Merry Christmas, Dean."

"Merry Christmas, sir."


	7. First Christmas at Stanford

"Hey," the soft voice of the man behind him almost made Sam jump. It'd been so quiet he had been on the verge of sleep. It hadn't helped that he stayed up all night doing research for a project that wouldn't even be do til classes actually started back up.

"Hey," Sam greeted, "Sorry." He began ringing up the man's merchandise.

"You're working on Christmas?" the man asked him. Sam chuckled a little, trying to keep the bitterness from his tone.

"Someone's gotta do it I guess," he said politely.

"You don't have any family to go home to?" the man asked. Sam shrugged.

"Not exactly," he tried to keep his tone light but there was something in the way he said it that told the man not to pursue the matter any further. It was only a few things he needed so the man was soon rung up, payed and on his way out.

"Merry Christmas," the man said as he picked up his bags and started for the door.

"Merry Christmas," Sam called after him. The rest of the afternoon quietly disappeared and Sam headed back to his motel room. The college had kicked them out of the dorms for the break so he had rented a motel room right outside and got himself a job at the grocery store in order to keep himself busy. Once inside his room, Sam turned on the lights and checked his cellphone. One name popped up on the screen, though neither of the names he had been hoping for. With a sigh, he listened to Brady's voicemail.

"Hey, Sam," Brady called over the sound of loud festivities. "Wanted to say Merry Christmas. I wish you'd come home with me. You're depressing me thinking about you all alone out there. Do something fun for me okay. Just so I don't have to worry about you. Anyway, Merry Christmas man. Have fun." The call ended and Sam smiled and shook his head. He looked over at the tiny tree he'd set up in the corner of the room with the lights strung on it. He turned them on and stared at the sad little thing.

"Happy, Brady?" he asked with a chuckle. He stared at it for a few more minutes and sighed. For once the empty room felt lonely and a bit scary. Sam's heart sunk into his stomach and the lights on the tree were teasing him as they threw a spotlight on all the empty space beneath the tree. With another sigh, he pulled the plug on the Christmas lights and went over to the desk. Opening up his laptop, he stared at the screen for a few minutes. The reflection of the tree in the computer screen taunted him. He slammed it down and went to the microwave to heat himself up a small dinner and turn on the TV. With a beer in hand, he watched the game into the night until he fell asleep. Alone.


End file.
